pas de deux
by bergamots
Summary: In which Roy Mustang decides to help out his dance partner Riza Hawkeye practice her solo. [modern ballet!AU, pwp]


_i just wanted to write haganenobeato some ballet smut, and it ended up turning into this. eventually i'll write this au properly, but for now u can have the fun dancing shenanigans. also, dom!roy is a thing here. i kinda like him. what roy and riza dance to is actually based upon kenneth macmillian's 1965 choreography of romeo and juliet. it's a great ballet – if u ever get the chance to see it performed, i absolutely recommend that u do._

 _my thanks to mar who not only encouraged and helped me complete this sin, but for encouraging me in every aspect of my life, sinful or not._

 _warning: pls don't ever fuck while en pointe. ur feet are already fucked from doing en pointe. don't fuck them more. (this psa has been brought to u by a person whose feet have been fucked by en pointe)._

* * *

It was nearing midnight as she continued to work in the studio, fatigue settling into her bones bit by bit. It was beyond frustrating that she couldn't seem to wrap herself around this choreography – it wasn't _that_ hard, for crying out loud – and yet every gesture she made felt clunky and off-beat, every pirouette and stumbled fouettés she tried looked ghastly and wholly _wrong_ in the mirror at the back of the studio. She panted roughly as she sat down, stretching her back and arms along her spread legs and desperately tried to bring her breathing under control.

"The problem's not with your dancing, you know," a voice said behind her and Riza jerked her head up in surprise. Mustang – no, he had told her it was just _Roy_ – had slipped into the studio, a wry smile on his face as he dropped his bag next to hers and quietly padded his way to where she was stretched out in front of the wall-length mirror. He sat down next to her and watched her with an expression she couldn't quite place as she moved to stretch out her other leg.

She pulled up slowly, making sure to roll her shoulders as she did, and turned her head to face him properly, cross-legged and looking a little flushed. "And how, pray tell, do you know that?"

"Your dancing is fine, Riza – more than fine – your technique is practically flawless," he answered, a kind smile growing on his face. "Your problem lies in your ability to connect with the character. I used to have this issue too, when I was only an amateur."

Riza snorted, pushing her fringe out of her face. "Of course. I should just learn what defines a fairy and be done with it."

"No, I meant-" he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair – Riza noticed that it was slicked back with sweat. He looked almost as exhausted as she felt, and she winced a little at how harshly she had responded. It wasn't _his_ fault she was having so much trouble trying to embody this choreography. It was obvious he had also been putting in the hard yards in the lead up to the first full rehearsal in just over two weeks' time – and with shame she realised that his role as Chevalier was considered even _less_ than hers.

It was amazing how easily he could inadvertently remind her of her position without even having to say a single word to her.

Roy sat up a little straighter and stretched his arms above his head. "No, okay. That was worded poorly. It's like – like _you've_ got to make a story for this character, their motivations, their _raison d'être_ -" Riza tried to supress a shiver as he suddenly dipped into a flawless and incredibly sinful French cadence. She could blame it on the sports bra and leggings she wore for being cold, but deep down she knew the real reason.

Riza Hawkeye had the hots for her partner, and a part of her suspected that he might be in the same boat.

"-not what anybody else thinks, not what anybody else has told you to think. _They're_ not dancing the Sugar Plum Fairy. You are."

Riza cocked her head to the side as she tried to remember what he said. It was no use – the man was simply _far_ too distracting in only shorts. "I don't get it."

He pushed himself off the floor suddenly and extended a hand towards her. "I think in your case showing you might be easier," he muttered under his breath, pulling her towards the centre of the room. She let herself be pulled up, trying her best not to admire the muscles in his arms, or how his back looked utterly divine.

He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and waited patiently in the middle of the studio while she finished her stretches.

"Are you familiar with MacMillan's death pas de deux?" he asked her once she approached him, taking her hands and bringing her close into his personal space. He smelled like sweat and the cologne she associated with him, though it was considerably harder to pick up on now. (Riza tried to ignore the possibility that she was deliberately sniffing out her colleague and instead it was natural to smell someone at such close quarters).

"From Romeo and Juliet?" she asked, pulling back slightly. "That's got nothing to do with the Sugar Plum-"

"It _will_ for what I'm trying to explain to you," he answered quickly, tightening his grip on her hands. "You're used to large literary personalities guiding your decisions, but you struggle when you have to fill in the blanks yourself. Hence, you're not connecting with the Sugar Plum Fairy because there's literally nothing to her character besides her solo."

He pulled her close to him and went about adjusting her arms, framing them _just so_. "Tell me what you know about Romeo," he said quietly as he began to correct the positioning of her fingers.

She huffed and stared at him. "Is this really necess-"

"Yes." His tone brokered no argument.

"Fine. He's fourteen and an idiot. And _famously_ dead."

"A brilliant start," he said sarcastically. "If I were to dance him like that description I would look like an orangutan. A dead orangutan."

"Well what do you want me to say?" she shot back, tempted to pull her hand down from where he had positioned it above her head. His touch on her other hand was firm, however, and Riza didn't like the idea of incurring the wrath of her partner, not when he was going out of his way to help her.

"I _want_ you to tell me about him in a way that will make me change how I dance," he replied, his voice sharp. "Otherwise I may drop you. Most fourteen-year-olds I know care more about their Xbox than an eleven-year-old girl."

His hands were warm on her stomach as he moved into position behind her, lifting her with an ease that still left her breathless.

"So?" he poked her in the side and she twisted as best she could in his firm grip, arms flailing, her perfectly angled and posed fingers lost amidst her sudden bout of ticklishness. "How do we make Romeo into something we can believe in and relate to?"

"He's been under a lot of stress," she started, adjusting herself once more.

Roy snorted. "Haven't we all." His grip suddenly became tighter, and Riza was eternally grateful that her partner couldn't see her expression from where she was, ragdolled against his shoulder.

"He just got banished from Verona, from his family, from Juliet," she continued, and he began to move, his grip not losing any intensity but was somehow less rough than before. "I mean, he managed to marry her and spend some time with her but…"

"It wasn't enough," he murmured underneath her, letting her weight pull her forward before he lifted her properly onto his shoulder. Her leg kicked up automatically for balance and Roy hummed in appreciation as he adjusted her balance slightly. "So, we have a teenager way in over his head, and maybe he's not thinking that straight either."

"You can't be as consistent," she chided him. "Juliet looks dead to him by all accounts, he's distraught, hysterical-"

Roy's gait changed and suddenly she realised where all this had been leading to – her limbs would only remain uninjured so long as she could invest herself fully into the character – _his_ character. He had been smart in using the final pas de deux – the infamous _death_ pas de deux – as ultimately the brunt of the work lay with whoever danced Romeo. Riza could simply follow his lead and adjust from a position of relative ease. She opened her eyes and watched as they crossed the studio floor, her eyes lingering on what she could see of his chest. _Of all the times to go without a shirt…_

"Good," he soothed, letting her slip from his shoulder down into his arms properly. "We know his current emotional state. It's pretty shit. The question is, how do we move beyond that?" She felt her toes connect with the floor once more and she turned in his quasi-embrace, falling to the floor with as much grace as she could manage.

"MacMillian designed this pas de deux as a perverse inversion of the previous ones, didn't he?" Riza asked from where she lay on the ground, and Roy nodded. "So, that then also needs to be embodied…"

"How?" He bent down and pulled her arms back towards him – Riza couldn't stop the involuntary shudder as his hands ran along the length of her arms before pulling her forcefully towards her by the wrists. There was a split second where she was weightless in the air, before she collided with him, his chest absorbing most of the impact and his arms wrapping tightly around her hips as she fell forwards over his shoulder.

"He'd want the dance to be exactly as it was, like before. But he can't. She's not cooperating."

"What does he do?" she felt, rather than heard him this time, draped as she was over his shoulder. His hands were hot against her legs, the grip on them loosening as she twisted once more to slip to the floor out of his grasp.

"He would…" she trailed off as he pulled her along the ground. It was hard to concentrate like this, when she was at his very mercy, and his hands weren't helping _at all,_ wrapped around her wrist like she weighed no more than a doll. He collapsed next to her, hesitating for a brief moment before laying his head against her chest. For a moment, all she could hear was the sounds of their breathing in the studio, and she twisted her head to better look at their positions in the mirror.

He was staring right back at her, a predatory expression on his face as his hands settled on the underside of her sports bra, the pads of his fingers digging into her skin with more force that was strictly necessary. They stared at each other through the mirror, chests heaving in synchronicity and he turned his head slightly, his lips mere millimetres from her bare skin.

"What would he do, Riza?" His voice was dangerously low, catching in his throat.

Riza swallowed.

"He'd kiss her," she managed finally, unashamed of how her voice wavered. _This_ was what it had all been building to – all those looks shared between them, the touches that had been _anything_ but casual or accidental – it all boiled down to this moment where they were alone in the studios with nobody and nothing to stop them.

He studied her for a moment, through the mirror, before his hand pushed her bra strap off her shoulder, dragging his fingers back down to her chest. She sucked in a breath as his fingers traced around her already taut nipple, his other hand rising to pull her hair out of the loose ponytail she had put it in, tangling his fingers roughly in her strands.

"Where?" he asked hoarsely. She simply stared at him, imploring him to _understand_ and –

The fingers entangled with her hair suddenly gripped with a pressure that just bordered on pleasure; Riza felt her body tense up in anticipation.

"Where?" he asked once more, firmer this time. She looked at him from where she lay, exposed and open. The hand teasing her nipple drifted to cup her face, his thumb swiped over her bottom lip and she closed her eyes in anticipation.

The first touch of his lips on hers was soft, chaste.

The second was not so.

She gasped roughly as he pulled her up towards him, shifting his leg so she straddled his thigh. She was pressed flush against his bare chest, and her arms automatically curled around his neck. His lips were hot and insistent against her own, and she groaned as his tongue ran along the seam of her mouth, begging for entrance. He was _insatiable_.

His hands were already beginning to undo the latches of her bra and she could feel the press of his erection against her leg – his thigh at this point wasn't enough; the friction through her leggings was pitiful and Riza was desperate to touch more of him, _feel_ more of him. She felt her bra finally give way and she quickly removed it, flinging it to some corner of the studio, uncaring as Roy ducked his head and very deliberately grazed her nipple with his teeth, before drawing it into his mouth. Riza groaned as he continued to tease her other nipple roughly, pulling and dragging it roughly with his fingers. It was like a fire had suddenly been lit in her lower belly, she could feel the stickiness of her arousal soaking through her leggings onto his thigh and no matter how she adjusted herself on him, it didn't release the tension she could feel building.

His other hand drifted down to the waistband of her legging, dipping beneath the fabric to splay across the curve of her arse. She whimpered at the contact and shifted closer to him, moaning as his teeth worried her nipple even more. He kissed his way back up by way of her neck, enjoying how she squirmed when he found a particularly sensitive patch of skin. He tasted like _Roy_ , a warm kind of balm that soothed as much as it excited her. His hands caught the edges of her leggings and made quick work of removing them. Riza sighed as his hands wandered over the expanse of her calves and thighs; not light enough to be ticklish, but not firm enough to leave her with any lasting feeling. He took her mouth with his own once more, his tongue lush and hot against her own as she tried to push down his shorts. Eventually she managed to push them down, but not before Roy had managed to walk her up against the barre and kiss her until she felt bruises forming around her lips, a wandering hand already working its way downward to her curls.

" _Ouvertes cambré vers le miroir, merci mademoiselle_ ," he murmured against her mouth, smiling broadly as she blushed but followed his request. He quickly shimmied out of his briefs before returning to his place behind her, slipping his fingers through her folds as she spread her legs obediently. Her hands gripped the barre and she tried to ignore how white her knuckles had become. All her synapses were on fire, every nerve ending in her body was set alight by his touch: the hand that wasn't busying itself around her clit had snaked up to grip her throat possessively.

She gasped as he finally entered her, his cock hot and electric against her skin and she dropped her head against the barre, trying to keep control of her legs as he pushed her back onto en pointe. There was no time to laugh about what her old instructors would say if they could see her (well, she _could_ imagine what they'd be saying, but that didn't bear about thinking right now), being penetrated from behind by a man that was as much a mystery to her now as he was when he first walked in here.

"Fuck, you're tight," he managed, slowly beginning to thrust into her. She half-gasped, half-sobbed as he set a demanding pace, his hand still stroking and rubbing her clit determinedly. The sensations were heady and strong and Riza couldn't find it in her to do anything but cling to the barre and pray to whatever was listening that her legs didn't give way. Her moans reverberated in the studio, and soon after his own joined hers

"Roy, _fuck harder,_ ah-"

"Look," he ordered harshly, the hand wrapped around her throat loosely suddenly tightening its grip and she whined as the pressure from her clit suddenly withdrew. It took every ounce of her energy to rely on her own strength and push off from the barre to meet his eyes reflected in the mirror, liquid and dark. He slowed his thrusts until they were barely swaying,

"You're going to watch me fuck you," he said slowly, enunciating every syllable with care. Riza swallowed a whine of disappointment at the lack of friction and nodded jerkily. "You're going to watch," he repeated, dragging his hand from her folds that were dripping with her arousal and dragging them over her lips in a clear invitation – she drew them into her mouth and shivered at the wolfish smile that grew in the mirror. "Until you come," he told her firmly, returning his hand to her clit and stroking over the bud gently. The hand wrapped around her throat drifted down, instead locking her arms firmly behind her back. His lips rested against the shell of her ear and she shivered as his warm breath teased the sensitive skin there.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly. His tone did not bely the position she found herself in: dominated and utterly at his mercy. She nodded unsteadily, and he growled, biting the lobe of her ear and grinning as she shuddered in response.

His pace was even more demanding than before: now she had nowhere to hide her face and Roy knew it. It was as disconcerting as it was hot – there was something truly depraved about watching him watch her get off on his fingers and cock and know that at any point a security guard could accidentally walk in on them. His pace quickened considerably, and she let herself fall forward, praying like mad that he would carry her weight like he always managed to. The new angle provided a different touch, a different sensation that threatened to undo everything that she was. It blurred any rational sense and left behind only a feeling of _ache_ and her need to feel complete once more. He was able to thrust deeper, if that was even possible, and the sensation of his cock against her walls left her gasping for air with every jerk of his hips. She could feel her orgasm building: it wasn't going to be a quickie one that would leave her feeling sated, but not satisfied, no – with every undulation of his hips his cock brushed over the spongey mass of nerves just inside her, and the sensation of pressure was building with every thrust.

"Roy, I-" she gasped, throwing her head back onto his shoulder as she could feel her orgasm upon her. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase against his arm, but he held strong.

"There's a good girl," he breathed into her ear as her voice broke and he let himself fuck her, _properly._ The feeling of her cunt spasming over his cock were the final push he needed, and soon enough he was groaning harshly into her shoulder, shuddering as she shifted against him, the sensations of each other eventually proving too much for their overly-sensitised bodies. Riza collapsed against the barre, legs trembling like a new born foal. Roy sat down, leaning against the glass of the mirror and focused on catching his breath. She slid down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"That was…" she began, before turning her head to kiss his clavicle. He hummed, resting his hand on her inner thigh and rubbing over the toned muscle with his thumb.

"Yeah," he managed, turning his head to look at her properly. He could feel his seed coating her thighs, and a primal part of him felt inordinately pleased. He knew she was unattached, but still. It felt nice to know he was the reason she had become a clumsy pile of limbs.

"So, humour me Roy." Her smile was sweet, if not a touch teasing. "How did this help me connect to the character of the Sugar Plum Fairy?"


End file.
